Trust Me: I Know
by ncisnewbie
Summary: What I think will happen after "Blame it on Rio." Eric (and Nell) get a surprise from Tony DiNozzo.


What I think will happen after "Blame it on Rio." Eric (and Nell) get a surprise from Tony DiNozzo.

All characters property of CBS.

* * *

The case closed at noon, and by late afternoon, the team had already completed most of the paperwork and thanked Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo— _Very Special_ Agent Anthony DiNozzo. He was to be seen chatting with Detective Deeks in one corner of the bullpen, while Nell and Eric completed the files in the Ops center upstairs as Sam looked on.

With trademarked insouciance, DiNozzo burst in to Ops, announcing as he came, "Eric…Beale…Beale-a-rini," Eric winced as Tony put a hand on each of his shoulders and gave him a hearty shake. "Guess who has earned the _privilege_ of driving me, Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, to the airport tonight."

Sam looked over and grumbled, "If you're such a special agent, DiNozzo, you'd think you'd merit a limousine."

"Actually, Sam, I'd prefer a motorcade, or at least a Bee-loraian, but it's short notice, so Eric's PT Cruiser will have to do."

Sam continued to scowl, "Don't do it, Eric. He insults your car, says it'll 'have to do,' but still expects you to drive through this traffic just to be rid of 'im? That's how you get on the secret blacklist with those very selective drivers for Űber. He can catch a city bus 'bout five blocks from 'ere."

"Been a pleasure working with you, too, Agent Hanna." He clapped Eric on the shoulder, again. "So, whaddya say, ol' buddy, ol' pal?"

He winced under the contact, but finally recovered sufficiently to consent. "Umm…Yeah?"

"There's the spirit! There's the sense of California adventure I'd expected when I knew I was coming this way! So, let's get going! I hear the traffic can be awful out this way!"

"When's your flight?" Eric pressed.

"Soon enough. I'm getting worried."

Eric shared an eye-roll with Nell, but put on a brave face. "Okay. Just give me a minute to pack up."

"Deal. Oh, and bring a sweater: Those airports can get cold."

"What? I thought you'd just unload at the kiss-and-ride."

DiNozzo nuzzled his cheek against Eric's, as if catching their combined reflections in the glare of the monitor. "Eric! I didn't know you felt this way!"

Sam cut in again. "Don't flatter yourself, DiNozzo. That's just the name for the unloading zone in front of check-in."

Eric got the sweater anyway, while Deeks came into Ops and invited Nell to the LAPD pistol range.

As Eric popped the trunk of his Cruiser, DiNozzo reached in to stash his go-bag. He froze when he found the tin labeled "Sex Wax," buried in the towels. "Now I'm curious, Beale! Is there a pastime the agency doesn't know about? 'Cause hey, I'm not one to judge!"

Eric just rolled his eyes. "Relax. I like to surf, and that goo is what helps surfers' feet get a good grip on the board."

"Drats! There's got to be at least a good story about why it's called 'Sex Wax.'"

"There is, but it's not safe for work."

"So? We're not at work any longer. Tell me…please." He drew out the long "e."

Eric leaned forward in the driver's seat. "Your whining makes you sound like Marty Deeks. If you want to know, you can Google it when you get to the airport."

Except for the agent's grumbles, they continued on in silence, DiNozzo fiddling with the controls of the sound system. After a few blocks, Eric caught the tail end of a yellow light and DiNozzo's grin came out. "There's no need to rush, Eric. My plane's not 'til nine-thirty-two." Eric's jaw dropped. "I actually wanted to talk to you. Got us reservations at one of those Cal-ee-forn-ya Kweezine places that just opened up: my treat." He checked his I-phone. "Make a left at the next light, and it'll be a half-mile on the right."

As they pulled into a parking lot, Eric's eyes widened. "Hey! This is the place Nell was mentioning. She pulled up a review on her tablet just yesterday." DiNozzo just smirked.

Eric's eyes grew big as saucers as he took in the artwork on the walls, the angular lighting and the background music by Phillip Glass. He allowed Tony to talk him into elk-venison Bourguignon with Mexican cocoa and chanterelle mushrooms and a fennel slaw salad, while Tony ordered the sole Veronique with enoki mushrooms and quinoa pilaf.

After the waiter left, Tony blotted his lips on his napkin and leaned in to get the surfer's attention. "So, here's the deal, Eric. I planned this little meeting because I can tell you have feelings for Nell Jones," The blush on Eric's cheek and the speed with which he tried to interrupt Tony gave all the confirmation in the world, so he just barreled on. "And even if you doubt it, Nell has feelings for you, too: I can tell. I can tell by the way she looks at you, by the way she smiles when you come into Ops. Just this afternoon, I caught her straightening her dress when she heard you on the landing."

Eric tried again to interrupt, and pushed his chair out, preparing to leave. "I don't need someone—a stranger, almost—coming from the other side of the country to give me advice on my love life."

DiNozzo put a calming hand on Eric's shoulder and lowered his voice. "Maybe you don't want my advice, and you're free to ignore it after I go. But I think you need to hear it, so just settle down and hear me out." They each took a drink of water to seal the truce.

The agent looked around one last time, but left it unclear whether it was to check for anyone listening in or simply to buy time. "The director himself lost the love of his life to an assassin's bullet, and that's sad and awful and that's the world where we work," he ran his hands along the edge of the table, "but there are other ways to lose in love, too." He shook his head wistfully. "Trust me. I know." He paused and brushed a wayward crumb away from his spoon. "You can also lose your love to indecision, to hesitation, to mixed signals or to poor communication." He took another sip of water. "In our world of postings and reassignments, of interagency task forces and long-term covers, anything can happen." He leaned in, like a mob boss sharing a secret. "Trust me, I know."

He leaned back. "Let me tell you a little story about a man and a woman—yeah, yeah: it sounds trite, but it's real. She came barreling into his life, and as his partner, turned his world upside down. She was sweet and fearless and funny and strong. The chemistry was there, and he—I—worshipped the ground she walked on. Then tragedy struck, and she left to be with the rest of her family, and I had to track her down half a world away just for a two-day fling." His words slowed. "I wish…I just wish I could have been there for her." Suddenly, the brash and brassy Tony DiNozzo looked tired and almost close to tears. "Don't make my mistake, Eric, or anything close to it. Nell could be sent away tomorrow, for all we know!"

Eric made to interrupt the agent's soliloquy. "That's the point. How can I start something, knowing that someone, probably her, will get promoted and reassigned soon enough?"

"That's not how it works, and you know it! Sure, one day that pygmy puppeteer of yours will materialize in Ops carrying a folder with a city and someone's name on it. She'll come begging—yes, begging—you or Nell to go there. And if it's Nell, and if you haven't told her, could you blame her for taking a new assignment?" He raised his hands to punctuate his question. "What would you do in her shoes?" He paused and steepled his fingers. "But if you're together, then the decision's different: more complicated, yes, but at least all the cards are on the table. Nell could stay for you; or you could stay for her; or Hetty's folder could be for both of you: Just look how Sam and Michelle have made it work."

Silently, the agent watched the sommelier complete the wine ceremony, as he played the role of host. His message was delivered and being processed. After he had taken the first sip, nodded, and dismissed the tuxedo-clad moustache, he shook his head and whispered, "Find the way, man! You've just got to find the way."

DiNozzo's phone buzzed with an incoming message, and he checked it—not inconspicuously. "Gotta go, buddy. My ride's here."

Eric nearly choked on the bite of rosemary-lavender popover he was nibbling on. "But…"

DiNozzo stood up. "The bill? Don't worry, it's taken care of. My treat, remember?" He stepped toward the maître's d station, allowing Eric to see past him, to where the maître's d was leading a very puzzled Nell Jones toward the table, and Marty Deeks looked on in amusement. He leaned in one last time, and shook Eric's shoulder. "By the way, she doesn't know it's my treat, and I don't think you need to tell her yet… Wink, Nod…"

As the shock wore off, Eric stood to welcome her to the table. A few seconds after she had been seated, she broke the silence. "Well, this is awkward."

Eric nodded, "You can say that again."

Nell smiled. "Well, this is…"

"No, I meant really it is," He tilted his head tentatively. "But I suppose it wouldn't be us if it weren't awkward."

"I think it's pretty clear we've been set up."

"You don't know the half of it, Nell."

"I say we just go with it: see what happens. Let's enjoy."

A thousand-watt smile crossed Eric's face, "So… do you prefer fish or venison?"

Nell looked at him from beside her wine glass. "Can we share?"


End file.
